On a single trip through the Orwell Tunnel You wake to whiskers touching your cheeks. Snow is falling on the Abalone drum basin, Melting on your heart shaped cymbal. We all tap our feet And those girls in the room--... Continue Reading →
On a single trip through the Orwell Tunnel You wake to whiskers touching your cheeks. Snow is falling on the Abalone drum basin, Melting on your heart shaped cymbal. We all tap our feet And those girls in the room--... Continue Reading →